


A Little Bird Told Me

by alex_caligari



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Crack, Drunkenness, Gen, Kink Meme, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_caligari/pseuds/alex_caligari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a long history of stupid ideas, this was probably Top Ten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bird Told Me

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkmeme prompt: Hurt!Peter, with whumpage resulting from something other than Jerry.

This was so fucking stupid.

It was the only thing Peter could think as he lay on the ground, wind knocked out of him, and his ankle feeling extremely sprained if not broken. His rather inconvenient pain hadn’t been caused by bloodsuckers, or a stage accident, or anything remotely interesting.

He fell out of a tree.

He could imagine Charley finding him and laughing, likely making a joke about too much booze being a bad idea at high altitudes. Like in the fucking tree outside the hotel. He was in the fucking desert, who thought it would be a good idea to plant a tree in the fucking desert?

Of course, he had only been in the tree in the first place because of his laundry. That was another layer of stupid added to this mess. He could still see a lonely shirt blowing gently in the breeze above him, mocking him. Good idea, Peter, just air-dry all your clothes on the balcony ledge, nothing bad could ever happen. No wind could come along and steal every scrap you brought and scatter them in the branches outside.

He groaned experimentally. His ribs hurt like he spent the night with a couple of drunken bar bouncers, but nothing broken. Good. He could feel his mobile still in his pocket (god damn he could feel it, he’d landed on it) and hoped it was still in one piece. He could call Charley to come to his rescue. That might be fun. He could play the victim card and get fussed over by his very own sarcastic nursemaid. Or Charley might leave him with an icepack and Pay-Per-View. Not so fun. And if he got painkillers (which he most certainly would need, goddamn ankle), Charley wouldn’t let him near any alcohol. Hmm.

A pigeon landed in the tree above him. He giggled at it. “Find Charley,” he croaked. Thank Christ for endorphins. The pain in his ankle was already lessening. Although if he lay here for too long he’d be really messed up and might not be able to call for anyone. The sun would come up, he’d bake in the heat, get dehydrated...shit. And he didn’t tan well. Eight years living in this country and he still stood out as the rain-washed Englishman. It wasn’t his fault that all his work was indoors.

Wait, he was getting sidetracked again. Focus. Rescue. Charley. Yeah.

Fuck, he was vibrating! The shock of it made him jump and reminded him of his bruised ribs. Muttering curses under his breath, he managed to reach underneath him and dig out his mobile. It took a few seconds to focus on the tiny screen but when he did, he flopped back and wheezed rather than laughed.

The text from Charley was simple. “If you’re flat on your ass again, at least warn me if you’re naked before I come get you.”

Peter giggled again while trying to text back. “But that would ruin the fun.”


End file.
